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Thursday, July 10, 2014

House of Hollow Wind (Mini Blog-Series Part 7)

Late evening
at Hollow Wind proved uneventful. I was
lazily browsing a shelf of Aunt Helen’s romance novels in the sitting room when
Grandmother happened by.

“Aubrey
dear,” I turned to a flour-dusted Grandmother, who looked to be elbow deep in
her baking. “I’m helping Libby make some
cookies for her granddaughters bake sale, they say mine always sells best but I
think they’re just pulling my leg.
Anyway, would you mind to go call for Shadow? Here lately she’s not wanting to leave those
woods.”

“Sure
Grandmother,” I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, remembering those famous
chocolate chip cookies of my childhood. “But
only if you save me a few of those cookies!”

Several
minutes later, donned in fur boots and my heavy winter coat, I set out to find
Shadow. I shivered as I surveyed the
edge of the dense woods, bare trees twisted grotesquely against the heavy
snow. The air was chill enough that my
breath came out in little puffs of steam.
I thought about Vanessa, wondering if she’d fled to the south for warmer
weather. I sincerely hoped she wasn’t
outside anywhere, facing this bitter cold each night. I stopped suddenly, halted in my footsteps,
at that last thought. Whatever would make
me think Vanessa was outdoors? I knew no
one could survive these brittle cold, winter nights with their freezing
temperatures.

No, I smiled
as I imagined Vanessa in some swanky motel.
Probably a seedy place right offside the road somewhere leading
south. Right this minute she was
probably drinking cheap coffee, courtesy of the motel, and reading a romantic
thriller. I was comforted by the thought
as I stepped into the underbrush and called for Shadow. I paused for a moment, trying to figure out
which way to branch out in my search for the dog. I
remembered playing in these tree-lined hills as a child, but the blanket of
snow was disorienting. I saw some paw
prints nearby that looked to be rather fresh and decided they would work as
good as any footpath.

I walked
several yards, calling for the dog until I felt nearly breathless. I reasoned the old kanine had chased a lone
rabbit or raccoon deep into the woods and was probably leisurely making her way
back towards the house. I was far enough
into the trees, now, that my calls echoed into the vast, white emptiness of the
surrounding hills. Broken tree branches
crackled beneath my footsteps. This far
into the woods, the thick snow was undisturbed,
swallowing the foot of each boot with every step I took. How long had I been out here now, five minutes? Ten? I
was rubbing my hands together for warmth when I heard the first ominous crack
behind me.

“Shadow?”

I turned
around. Nothing but trees. A low breeze had begun to howl beneath the
cave of dying, early winter shrubbery. Half
naked trees swayed, throwing shadows that seemed to dance in the wake of an
early moon. I glanced upward, noting
that night had fallen quickly. Or maybe
I’d been in the woods longer than I thought, for I’d worn no watch. Gray clouds shifted across the pale, waning
moon. I was thinking about turning back
when I heard it again, the shuffling of a footstep amidst bone-dry twigs and
dead pine needles. Then again. The sound was unmistakable. Someone was walking briskly towards me. Someone who failed to answer my calls. Someone who was trying to catch up to me,
unseen, anonymous beneath the veil of shadowed trees.

“Who’s
there,” I called, my teeth chattering. “Grandma?”

Nothing but
the quick, crackling call of snapping branches and crunching snow as the
footsteps shuffled quickly towards me.
Terrified, I began to run. The
tall, gray skeletons of sycamores and half-naked pines flew past my peripheral vision
in a blur. I had no sense of direction,
my feet guided only by the primal psychological conditioning of fight or
flight. The harder I ran, the louder the
footsteps behind me echoed in pursuit. Sharp,
bone dry edges of dead tree branches snagged my jacket like grasping arms as I
ran. I felt one dig into my forehead as
I sped past, searing the skin in a sickening thud that nearly knocked me
backwards. Still, I kept running, the footsteps
echoing close behind.

My lungs
were burning when, at last, I came to a clearing. I stopped for a moment, collapsing against
the sturdy trunk of an oak tree. I
gasped for air, half-expecting some faceless phantom, maybe a murderer or a
swamp monster, to emerge from the edge of the wooded area. No one came. I strained my ears against the howl of wind
just enough to hear the faint crackling of descending footsteps. Whoever had been chasing me was now headed in
the opposite direction. The sound of
their footsteps was fading quickly.

I dropped to
the ground, nearly sobbing in relief, as I took inventory of my
surroundings. The clearing I’d stumbled
upon seemed to be manmade. I thought I could
barely discern a footpath leading north.
It was a narrow, dirt footpath, paved sharply between trees on either
side. But it was a footpath nonetheless,
I was sure. I had no idea where I was
now, nor which direction led back to the farmhouse.

Dusk was
slowly descending and I was chilled to the bone. My fingers were numb from the cold, even with
my mittens on. I wiggled them and made
the decision to follow the footpath.
Footpaths usually led somewhere, perhaps to a house? And I knew if I went back into the woods I
could be lost for hours before I found my way to the highway or the
farmhouse. Freezing to death from the elements was not
unheard of in these parts. My body shook
against the wind as I pulled my hood tighter.
Rather from the cold or from the thought of dying out here in the dead
of winter where hungry wolves roamed, I was not sure.

House of Hollow Wind

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Torn From Him by Death

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(Stacy) I am a psychologist and aspiring poet. I dabble in digital and collage art. But what I love to do most is cuddle up with a great book (especially my beloved gothic romances!) and a tasty cup of coffee (iced, hot, latte...it's an unhealthy obsession, so no huge preferences are required). I enjoy old b horror movies, small town fairs and vintage things. When I'm not reading you can find me blogging, writing poetry, honing my photoshop skills, watching movies and spending quality time with my family. Click my pic to visit my personal blog!

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